


Kyusha - atari

by tothemovies (jayjem_jam)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Divergent, Gen, M/M, bow maker! kyoutani, gremlin volleyball fiends, hi meet my OC tanegashima heiji i love a child, kyudo! yahaba
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21726544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jayjem_jam/pseuds/tothemovies
Summary: They make an odd pair, Kyoutani and Yahaba. The reluctant archer from a prominent kyudo clan cratering down an unknown path of volleyball and chipping away his precious hands and the bow maker who before was an urban myth, weaving bows for little kids who couldn't afford to buy fancy synthetic bows for their classes, a formidable volleyball player. They make an odd pair, for they speak into one another's ears, shoulders and fingers entwined like bamboo strips surrounding hardwood in a bow. They make an odd sight, but it is a sight that is reminiscent of one centuries ago, a bow maker by an archer's side, lending strength and something much more inexplicable to the warrior princess' side
Relationships: Kyoutani Kentarou/Yahaba Shigeru
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	Kyusha - atari

**Author's Note:**

> just wanted,,,tendie kyouhaba bonding before the iconic Wall Slam and beyond it,,,love my two aggro boys
> 
> also the meaning for yahaba's name had kept me in a loop of 'i gotta write it' for like 4 years so it's good that adult me is fulfilling the wishes and dreams of child me
> 
> for juu: I hope this is somewhat of an entertaining read! I know it's a bit of an interpretative dance from your prompt (anything to do with the trope where two people don't look like they would get along but end up shyly falling for each other) but if you have fun during it, then we both win! Happy secret Santa Haikyuu exchange!

**Toteki**

Shigeru didn’t always play volleyball. 

Volleyball came much later in his life than others originally suspected. He is the proud son of a matriarchy where generations of mothers had raised their children with firm words and the steady, noble art of _kyudo._

Volleyball is a treacherous journey full of connections that he cannot spot and insane stunts defying the laws of gravity. Humans should not be able to jump that high or that far, yet in this sport, they are able to. Shigeru is still grappling with the technical aspects of the sport, exercising time and effort and memory and muscle into the rhythm of the sport, yet he is far from being able to conceptualise how all these threads can come together.

Maybe it was his upbringing, and his deep roots in _kyudo._ There is only the self in _kyudo_ \- the draw of target, the twang of the _tsuru,_ _yumi, y_ _a,_ his _yugake_ gripping his hand, the swishing of the _hakama._

 _Perfect yourself, and you will achieve the perfect mark,_ Grandmother had murmured to him, many nights when they were younger than the rows of _yumi_ in the inventory of the Yahaba _dojo,_ polishing the curves and bends of the worn _yumi,_ tranquil moonlight dripping onto the straw bundles gathered into _makiwara._

Long instances of drawing an empty _yumi_ without its accompanying _ya,_ where days bleed into nights, where he snapped countless strings in order to burn the memory of the string into his core and to focus his sight into one path. The true path. The path where he will achieve perfect clarity.

“You think too much,” Grandmother chides, at every possible instance she could ever get to correct his bunched up shoulders, tight arms, creaky posture. “You are practising an art form to clear your mind. Stop thinking.”

Because he was born with zero working sense of self-preservation, he answers back every time -

“You telling me that will just make me want to think more, Obaa-san.”

He would have to clean up the _dojo_ after running his mouth like that. 

  
  


Shigeru hasn’t always done volleyball, but in the same way that he had been dropped into _kyudo,_ he is devoting a single-minded focus into volleyball as he does with every other thing he had ever found an interest in, grunting out gallons of sweat as he tries and fails to perfect his tosses.

The first years cowed away from him since the start of the practice sessions, all of them somehow collectively terrified of him handling the volleyball as if he has half a mind to murder them all with the sheer power of his thought. People are lucky he’s not inclined to run around serving volleyballs like he heard Matsukawa-san does in PE dodgeball.

There is a _thwack_ like an _ashibumi_ done very badly - twisted ankle kind of wrongly - and he’s muttering under his breath now, frantically correcting his footing, shoe soles dragging on linoleum floors. It’s no _tabi_ on _dojo_ floor, but it’s practically the same thing given the circumstances, as he corrects himself into the proper stance, the muscle memory taking him through the motions. Rise up, leg sweeping back, focus your core, let tension bleed out with a breath -

He’s too stuck in the steps of _ashibumi_ that he hasn’t realised that the entire gym had gone completely dead silent, and what broke their joined concentration had been the ball dropping down and bouncing off his head, thumping on the shiny wooden floor.

 _“Hazure!”_ He barks, out of complete habit - built to spite his instructor, Aunt Yushiro, before she can call him out for missing a target first. 

“Yahaba-chan,” Oikawa coughs, relieving the tension. “What was that?”

Shigeru has no more words to defend himself. He only seeks death, at this precise moment in time. To be starting a _kyudo_ stance, in _the middle of volleyball practice._ Somebody please embed an arrow through his chest, please and thank you, he won’t even hold it against them. He’ll even pay for that excellent execution. 

He can feel his blood pooling efforts to all rush to his cheeks, staining those two facets completely red, like he took a nosedive into a vat of red dye, blustering out nonsense as his arms snap to cover his face, whine exiting his throat.

Oikawa’s excited babble is cut short by the habitual thump of Iwaizumi’s lovingly administered punches, dealt out like casino chips. Watari chips in to contribute to the general hubbub of things, herding away the eyes zoning in on him, as he keeps his eyes to the ground, reciting _fudoshin_ under his breath. 

“One must surpass _fudoshin_ in order to achieve _heidoshin,”_ he recites. _“S_ _ha wa shintai-shusen kanarazu rei ni ataru._ Fuck, I do not have propriety.”

Kunimi shifts closer to him, eyes still the same shade of unconcerned and indifference to the world, staring at him, quiet and piercing. 

_“Senpai,”_ he says. Waits for Shigeru to look up.

“Yeah, Kunimi?” He returns, apprehension building at the back of his throat, spreading down his spine.

“Your form,” the kid blinks once. “I thought that was pretty cool, how you positioned yourself. It’s, like,” he blinks again, meeting his eyes squarely, “fluid. Suits you.”

“Oh,” he blinks, mirroring Kunimi’s slow pace. “That’s, uh, my shooting style. For _kyudo,_ I mean. Fluid and no thoughts. That’s me.”

The club had been adequately distracted by the seniors, who cast worrisome looks at him in turns, as to not freak him out more than Oikawa had. He’s still squirming, embarrassed that he just...did that! In the middle of practice! How neglectful of him!

Nobody quite corner him when he’s changing back to his school clothes, though Matsukawa-san does pass by him, dropping a hand onto his sweat-soaked hair.

“Nice footwork, kiddo,” he grins, the motion just a twitch to one side of his mouth.

Shigeru can only nod, watching his _senpai_ be dragged away by the arm by the two monsters known as Iwaizumi and Oikawa. 

  
  


He doesn’t quite slip back into the footing at volleyball, but he goes home every night, gets out his old _yumi,_ and practices being a nuisance in the backyard, snapping the bowstring until it almost snaps, standing by the koi pond, until he can feel his _oshidegake_ wearing thin under the relentless snapping of the _tsuru._

Twang. Twang. Twang.

He can’t hear that sound, one he could summon after two rounds of relentless snapping of the bow _._ Perhaps without an arrow it’s silent, but even the strings refuse to play the melody. 

Twang. Twang. _Twang_.

He is at _kufu geiko,_ nowhere near the skill set possible to nock an arrow and let it hit a potential target. The _yumi_ stands tall, much taller than him, just as the volleyball net stretches before him, endless, looming like a behemoth threatening to swallow him whole. He cannot crumble, cannot succumb to the fear rooting him to the ground - if others can outrun the nerves induced by The Net, so can he.

 _“You’ve always been a terrible follower, Shigeru,”_ Mother murmured, a hand in his hair, touching the way the waves stay even as he had pressed them flat under a heating iron hours before. _“Don’t you find it okay to set your own path?”_

He had scoffed, derisive, a teenager at odds with the world, but at the core of it all, at odds with himself.

“Then who will follow me on that path?” He muttered, attempting to straighten out his freakish curly hair into acceptable straight strands.

“Sometimes, son,” Mother let her hand drift to his own, encasing the back of his hand. “You have to start by following on your path first.”

  
  


Nobody brings it up the next day, or the next week, and he’s thankful that everybody is lenient towards him dropping a volleyball on his face and making a fool of himself. He’s glad everybody is mostly the same when they interact with him.

What’s different is how there is almost a strange pull he holds over the first years - they listen more attentively to what he says, with special attention to their footing that he’s more than happy to assist with, years of adjusting his own footing lending way to mentoring his _kouhai_ as if it’s an ingrained habit. Giving tips, talking in a refined, lofty military commander’s voice, hands at the ready to direct shoulders and arm to exert maximum core strength. 

He isn’t aware of the seniors watching him, Oikawa’s eyes sharpening specifically, as Shigeru sends the first years off to Irihata, bowing to Mizoguchi.

“Wha,” Watari nods at him, ready to snap his arm to a salute. “Captain Yahaba.”

“Shhh,” he chides back. “Don’t call me captain. What if you jinxed it and now I have to be captain?”

Watari’s eyes slide sideways and back at him, barely a second in between the action, but it’s enough for him to be wary of what that gesture means. 

Hanamaki swoops in at the last minute, shoving Watari aside and throwing an arm around his shoulder, the other hand landing on his hair and scuffing into his scalp. He squawks, undignified and too loud, as he tries to fight off the tall _senpai,_ yelling for mercy.

“Nothing is happening, Yahaba-kun! Keep up the good work!”

 _“Senpai,_ stop trying to _kill_ me!”

  
  


Nothing really happens until an old opponent he faced off in middle school quite literally runs into him at the hallway, and they have this shared moment of awkward staring where they don’t know what to say to this one guy you consistently were pitted against in all of the possible versions of school _kyudo-kogi_ like, _every bloody time,_ and you thought you got rid of him, but no, wrong, you’re both in the same school now.

“Ah,” he grimaces, seeing the gesture similarly echoing on Tanegashima’s face, who flinches back in distaste. “Hello, Tanegashima-kun.”

“Yahaba,” the boy grunts back, frowning at Iwaizumi who politely pretended to be part of the scenery, looking everywhere but the two of them. “Are you busy?”

He was. He’s supposed to accompany the vice captain to the teacher’s lounge to strong arm for more funds to be allocated to the club, but also to finalise logistics for the training camp. Shigeru was discussing details with his _senpai_ before he almost got bowled over by his old opponent.

“A little, but if you want to have a chat, that’s okay,” he cuts a look to his _senpai._ “Hope I’m not holding you up, _senpai._ You can leave me here, I won’t die.”

Tanegashima snorts. “Same thing can’t be said about me.”

He drives an elbow into his rib, pretty smile perpetually on his face.

Iwaizumi’s face is moving through a lot of expressions, settling on none. He seems wary to leave him here with this other kid he has no prior knowledge on, but they do need to get that bus to get out from school. He waits, curious to see what’s the verdict to be like, when Kindaichi pops out from nowhere, blinking down at him.

 _“Senpai!_ Captain wanted to see you!” He chirps, bowing quickly to Iwaizumi.

Settling on a determined edge, Iwaizumi barks out a string of instructions for confused Kindaichi to stay here and look after Yahaba, and that he will return shortly. Nodding as their senpai marches away, Kindaichi bows once to him and trots to a corner, obediently nodded for him to ‘continue your conversation, senpai, I’ll just become a wall for the next five years’.

“You,” Tanegashima says, turning to him. 

“Me,” he nods back, knowing what this will be about.

“No more _kyudo-kogi_ for you, huh,” his old opponent notes, not missing the trail of faint _fudeko_ splattered on his left hand. 

He knows that this brat knows, so he can only shrug. “No more _kyudo,_ full stop. Wanted to try something new.”

“What’s that, then?” Grunts the other.

Seeing no harm, he continues. “Volleyball.”

“You wanted to ‘try something new’, and of all the options out there, you picked _volleyball?”_ Tanegashima frowns, the edges of his mouth digging into his cheek. “That’s way out there. Why don’t you just pick up _kendo_ or a martial arts?”

Shigeru doesn’t know how to explain this...to essentially old friend of his, that he’s tired of always following in a path ordained by his family, and at least during high school, he wants to break free from the Yahaba Clan’s predestined _kyudo_ practice, and try his hand at something completely out of character for him. All teenagers have those rebellious moments where they want to reinvent their entire selves. He’s acutely speeding through that, at a breakneck speed that whirls by too fast that he is unable to do anything to stall the events in motion.

He made his bed and now he is going to lie in it. He'll have to brave through it now until third year finishes up, and then he can go back to aimlessly shooting at targets and committing the crime of _hazure._ That's in store for the future. 

"Oikawa-san is very inspiring," he shrugs, and it's not exactly a lie.

Tanegashima's eyebrows twitch, a sign of burgeoning irritation. "Yo, I know you swing that way, but just because you're soft on boys doesn't mean you should just join whatever club that have a high rate of pretty boys."

He can't hold it in - Shigeru starts honest to god grandmother hacking up a lung at the boy's words. 

"Don't laugh! I'm just summing up what you told me!" Snaps Tanegashima, fists swinging. 

"Heiji-kun," he wheezes, breath lodged in his throat. "If I wanted to join a club because of pretty boys, I sure as hell would have joined the baseball club. We don't have pretty people in the volleyball club, rest assured."

He can tell by the full body spasm that Tanegashima goes through that the first name calling wasn't a problem, but the _joining the baseball club_ was. Tanegashima still looks very much supportive of the stance of Murdering Shigeru, and he doesn't have the will in himself to even jokingly discourage his old rival from that particular set of actions. Heiji still watches him closely, the line of his jaw gnashing harshly, before he grunts, hand sifting through his coarse head of hair.

"Alright, I'll bite. Why aren't you in _kyudo?"_

Shigeru saw this question coming a mile away.

"I told you, Heiji-kun -"

"Stop doing that, it's creepy."

"- I wanted to try something new," he continues, regardless of interruptions. 

Tanegashima’s face goes through a series of contortions. 

“You wanted to try something new, Shigeru, or are you running away?”

His smile may still be present on his mouth but truly, he means none of the gestures. It is futile to lie to another _kyudo_ archer - they are all trained to discard their surroundings and focusing on the self. It is telling that his self had deserted him or taken an extended vacation to the point of no return, because he is losing grip on himself, _hassetsu_ becoming more of a burden, spinning him around endlessly and making him lose sight of the target.

“Your recruitment pitch needs work, Tanegashima-kun,” he grins, the suffix meant to hurt. They have gotten along on the premise that neither one of them respect the other, and it had been that way throughout middle school. He avoided Seijoh’s _kyudo_ club because his head was dreaming of scenarios where he would have to face Tanegashima again in the distant future, and having to explain that he had lost his way, skill set falling steadily off _toteki._ He is repeating his motions, chanting the same mantra, but he cannot wade his way out of this murky water, unable to see the surface. Practice, practice, practice - but for what purpose if he cannot see the target?

“If I was recruiting, then you’ll know,” Tanegashima snorts, hand coming back to slot in front of his school pants. “I’m not the type to play games. My style is very demanding and up front. I would have just asked you, Yahaba.”

“Oh good,” he exhales, something like relief in that breath. "I know you know how I performed in my last qualifier, so that's why I put a pause on _kyudo_ for a while."

Tanegashima's eyes sharpen in on him.

"I've seen you play, on and off competition. You think too much and that's how you lose your focus and fuck up."

"I know. So do you -"

"But that doesn't mean you're shit," Heiji continues, regardless of his self-deprecating hour. "I know you've reached _shin-zen-bi_. I've seen your shooting, I know you've developed a unique style. You're _good,_ and you don't have faith in your own skills, so that's why you run away and muck up whenever you have to fall back on your skills because you think you suck for too long, your head started believing in it." 

Shigeru's head is under water, and for once, he can hear the roaring sound of the ocean. 

_Why do you yell at me?_

"What should I do then?" He hacks out a laugh, though it's more of a grimace.

Tanegashima scowl. "I don't counsel. I'm only an archer. Go and polish up on your footing and fire off a few arrows. Work it out of your system. You're a focused individual, and it shows. So don't half ass whatever it is you're doing." 

A stone thrown into the water, jostling him out of place.

“I don’t,” he swallows, throat dry. “I don’t know what to do.”

Tanegashima Heiji houses an impressive amount of restraint and patience for not clubbing him over the head. Instead, he sighs, shifting back on his feet, moving out of Shigeru’s space.

“You do _kyudo,_ Yahaba. Figure it out.”

“What -”

“You don’t train only your arms, Shigeru,” Tanegashima says, waving him away. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

Kindaichi looks up at him, face for once not holding any edges of constant frantic energy that he’s cursed with along with his hair. Shigeru doesn’t meet his eyes, shuffling his feet to where Oikawa’s classroom is, practically a routine route for him to get there due to how many times he’s summoned.

 _“Senpai,”_ Kindaichi voices, steps away from him, lingering at the back.

The line in his shoulder twitches out of place. His _yeah, kid?_ is awful at masking how nervous he is.

“It’s not...anything bad. Whatever sport you used to play,” the kid hedges, shuffling loud enough for him to hear the drag of school shoes on the floor.

“But?” He doesn’t turn around.

“But I think it’ll be good for you to like, dedicate yourself more. Like last time, you know how you got all focused and everyone was swarming you because you had insane footwork? I feel like...you’re just scared of something, but you don’t have to be, y’know?” 

Shigeru’s head is underwater, but he can breathe for the first time.

"Yoohoo ~ what’s this?” Oikawa’s head appears from his classroom, flanked by Hanamaki. “A pep talk, before your glorious captain can address you? How audacious of you, Kindaichi-chan ~!”

The smile he flashes them cannot be anything other than menacing.

"I think I have everything to be scared of, Kindaichi-kun,” he murmurs, loud enough for his _kouhai_ to hear, stepping forward to their captain. “Run off now. You’ve done your errand.”

Kindaichi doesn’t move away until a while later, running off to his own classroom.

“Ey, what are you doing, Yahaba-chan, terrorising your _kouhai_ already?” Oikawa teases, pressing close to him. He smells like freshly baked, stolen milk bread.

“Nothing,” he bats his captain away. “Mind your own business.”

“Mean, Yahaba-chan! _Mean!”_

  
  
  


To be fair, he knows _of_ the _kyudo dojo,_ in the same way one would register that water is wet, underfoot is ground, salt is salty.

Aoba Johsai is very esteemed for having a powerhouse volleyball team in the province. Aoba Johsai is _not_ so esteemed for having a _kyudo_ team on any scale or degree, even if Tanegashima Heiji joined their lineup.

He heard stories of how a lot of people skip practice and never show up to _kyudo-kyogi_ and lost their way and were too embarrassed to come back - the whole shebang. He knows the stories and convinces that aligning himself to a powerhouse base would be an easier ascent to stable stardom, by association with his jersey number on the team’s roster.

Shigeru puts a stop on _kyudo-kyogi_ because personally he couldn’t handle all responsibility belying on his shoulders. No matter how much he bemoans about volleyball, he still finds comfort that down to its core, it is a team effort and the burden of responsibility is shared among all players of a team on a court. In _kyudo,_ it is only the individual - and Shigeru - Shigeru gets lonely.

However, he is at his essence, someone who spends a lot of time inside his head. Being in a demanding sport where he has to communicate at every instance by virtue of being in a team setting which has _Oikawa Tooru_ in it - really taxes a lot out of him. He likes _kyudo_ because it’s very self-based, Shigeru-grounded. He can go at his own pace, find his own _zen_ at his own time.

Volleyball with the Supreme Leader? Fat luck.

Retrieving a _yumi_ from the rack, he fumbles with his underglove, cursing as he almost dropped the bow onto the floor. His _obi_ tugs onto his stomach, snagging his _hakama_ and he hobbles, like an idiot, not knowing how to handle his own equipment.

 _Slow down,_ Grandmother used to tell him. _Breathe._

Slowing down to a complete stop, he closes his eyes, freezing all movements.

In. Out. The tension in his shoulders eases away, like trickling water over a step in a brook.

_Seek out **heijoshin.**_

Closing the clasps on his _yugake,_ he pretends he is not shaking in fear of mucking it up badly - and dying out of sheer shame - going through the steps of _ashibumi._

Foot on the _shai._ Face the _kamiza._ Left side of the body facing the target. _Breathe in._

Feet slide apart, a little at a time, until the distance setting the feet apart is the length of his _yazuka. Don’t panic. Align your body in a direct line from your target._

He doesn’t get it right the first time, but he goes through the steps again. Again. Again. Repetition. _Kufu geiko._

There is no shame in starting over from the _shai,_ foot meeting the drawn line. Again and again and again -

His toes all point, dead centre, at the middle of the _kamiza. Ashibumi_ is almost completed. 

Shigeru feels content to just....stand there and breathe. It’s satisfying, getting things right finally. He’s been moving very fast, all frenetic energy and the pressure to be faster, better, jump higher - it makes him all wound up, _heijoshin_ all tossed out the window.

_What kind of an archer am I? What is my way of the bow?_

Shigeru has a bad and terrible habit of releasing his arrow with one eye closed in earlier days of competition, which snowballed into him closing both eyes at the draw of the qualifying finals during middle school.

He called it a blind shot of baseless faith. Grandmother called it useless trust in your own abilities.

He would score a point at every instance. There was always a call of _Tekichu!_ He had not missed any of those shots he literally took.

“Maybe I do think too much,” he muses, settling into _dozukuri,_ lining his body up to follow the razor sharp line leading to the _kamiza._ Straight line from shoulders to feet. Not a curve out of place.

Perfect. Oikawa’s serves wish they could be this dead straight.

 _Yugamae._ Readying the bow. _Torikake._ He holds the _yumi_ lightly in his right hand, easing into _tenouchi,_ sliding his left hand into a grip position, hovering his right hand, before turning his head to face the target in _monomi._

 _Uchiokoshi._ Bow above head, preparing for the draw. The _ya_ is ready, lodged lightly between his glove.

 _Hikiwake._ Lower the bow, pull back the right arm, push forward with the left. Hold the tension. _Breathe out._

 _Kai._ Continue. Keep on going into the _ya_ sits in the line he sets out for it to venture, a path unseen by none other but him. Have the _tsuru_ sits by the cheekbone. _Breathe in._

Then - _hanare!_

The arrow zips through the air, shooting off in a deadly straight line, whirling until it embeds itself firmly in the red dot in the _kamiza,_ the wind still rushing by his ears. He has not moved. He is as still as the calmness settling into him. 

“Ah,” he blinks, lowering the bow. “Definitely feeling some _heijoshin_ tonight. _Tekichu!”_

As he jogs out to retrieve the arrow and return it back to the club room’s inventory, a shadow falls over the entrance, as he hops from the _matoba_ back to the wooden _dojo._

He runs into Tanegashima for the second time that day, with the Supreme Leader in tow.

“Told you he’ll be here,” his old nemesis tells his new tormentor. “Okay, I’m off. Don’t call me again.”

“Much obliged, Hei-chan ~!” Croons Oikawa, as he waves the boy off. Shigeru barely has time to shove both his gloves away before the captain swivels to him, crowing loudly -

“Yahaba-chan!”

“Captain!” He returns, like a poor army recruit. “I swear I wasn’t doing anything dodgy!”

Oikawa’s eyes gleam as he hustles him out of the entrance and back towards his home. He hasn’t realised how late it had gotten, with the street lights coming out to paint an iridescent canvas along the way home. 

“You’re too fluffy and too smart to commit anything illegal on school grounds, Yahaba-chan ~” Oikawa cackles, hands digging into his shoulders. “Besides, I came because Iwa-chan was worried about you and told me to check up on you, so we just sort of came back to school together to see if you’re still mucking around somewhere. And lo and behold! You were!”

There has been no judgement, nothing to fault him on. Just a simple _I wanted to check up on you,_ with no expectation of returning favours.

“Iwaizumi-san is too nice for us all,” is all he contributes to that load of information, in which Oikawa nods emphatically.

“Tell that to him when he - Ah, Iwa-chan!” He raises a hand, fist in Shigeru’s vest. “I got him, Hajime!”

“Stop yelling my name. It’s filthy when it exits your mouth,” Iwaizumi responds gruffly as he manifests into view, scowl easing when he makes eye contact with Shigeru. “Problem child. There you are.”

He couldn’t help himself. _"S_ _enpai_ , you’re not my mum.”

Oikawa manages to somehow laugh through the pain of Iwaizumi’s legendary solid punch to the him, laughing through it all, as he enthusiastically slams service ace hands on his back, cackling loud enough to get cats yowling back at him.

"Idiot,” Iwaizumi mutters, but with the fondness of someone used to their weird friend’s antics. “Yo. You. You alright now?”

Both _senpai_ turn uncanny eyes to him, searching for an answer. He doesn’t really know what they expect, but he’s giving the best answer he thinks he can cough up in this instance.

“I’m going to manage, _senpai._ Thank you for mothering me.”

That does the trick, but honestly? He thinks Iwaizumi just wants an excuse to chase Oikawa down the street anyways, and who is he to turn down such a wholesome exercise? 

It’s really for the good of the common people, really.

Iwaizumi launches into an immediate roar, Godzilla at his worst.

_“Oi, Trashykawa, this is why he turned out bad! It’s because you’re the shitty father that can’t teach his kids right!”_

Oikawa barely even has time to wheeze out an excuse before he takes off down the street, shrieking for mercy. 

**Kanteki**

Shigeru then did the things, though reluctantly and with a lot of screaming:

  1. Admit to the Matriarchs that he had been wrong about his involvement in _kyudo_ and that he will in fact, practice the Art along with the juvenile game of volleyball
  2. Taken to carrying his old yumi, worn but familiar to him, to school and stored safely in the _dojo,_ alongside Tanegashima's own bow
  3. Practice draws after school and after dinner
  4. Incorporate _dozukuri_ into volleyball
  5. Stay later than everyone else and practice _hassetsu_ in the _dojo, hakama_ folded neatly in an orderly pile in his school bag



There is a tranquil understanding, settling among Seijoh players, that Yahaba is _something else._ There's always a quiet quality to him, but now that he is folding along the Old Ways of _Kyudo_ , old muscle memories of carrying himself find themselves working to even how he carries himself in volleyball and in every day mannerism. Deliberate, at ease, calculated - nobody needs to look for long to be aware that this is a disciple of Oikawa, his strides far and long, polite smile hiding none of the calculation behind sharp eyes. 

"You're scary," Hanamaki socks him in the shoulder, after he landed on his feet after pulling out a feint before the Great King's nose. 

"I'm too impressed to even be offended," Oikawa admits, which is a big step for him. Normally he would be kicking up half a fit already.

"That's big," Matsukawa whistles, and eases out of the way of the deadly spike headed his way. "Come on, cap, I give credit when credit's due."

Seeing that he has to be the adult in this scuffle he offers up two hands, pacifying the seniors. "Come now, _senpai,_ play nice. Let's try to all get along." 

Kunimi snorts, glaring down a fellow first year who tried to shove knee pads down the back of his shirt. "Or what, _senpai?"_

He shrugs, pretending to think about it. "I know some _judo_ too. I can test it out on you." 

Matsukawa and Hanamaki don't waste any time in immediately cackling at Kunimi's openly flabbergasted face, mouth falling slack and open. 

"Yahaba-chan, _mean,"_ The Captain marvels, less an admonishment and more a praise. "I didn't know you had this in you!"

"Go back to practice!" Coach starts hollering, Iwaizumi at his side, harried and looking twenty years too old for a seventeen years old body. "Or do you want to do more laps around the school?"

That's one way to disband a group of chatting teenage boys, for sure.

Tanegashima doesn't acknowledge him beyond the absolute necessity, as they have always done, but they do keep a much closer eye on each other nowadays. It's a little sad that beyond the volleyball club, Yahaba doesn't really have any other real friends besides Tanegashima, who balks at the vaguest suggestion that they could be anything other than vague acquaintances and old rivals. He still comes in and out of the Yahaba _dojo_ like he goes there, something Shigeru's aunts have stopped yelling over and had come to accept as a part of reality. He too camps over at Tanegashima when the Matriarchs get too overwhelming, chilling in the old study room that Heiji's grandfather used to live and study in before he moved back to Kyoto.

"Why are you in Miyagi of all the places, even though you came from Kyoto?" He asks over _udon_ one day, carefully picking out the prawns to eat later.

Tanegashima shrugs. "Less people practice _kyudo_ here. You can fuck up and not be persecuted to death by the _Kyudo_ Association."

Shigeru considers it. "Fair, but I feel like that's not the _entire_ reason."

Glaring, the other boy scuttled back, eyes hard. "Why do I have to tell you anything?"

"Calm down, grandpa, you're not that interesting," he waves the boy away, sprinkling more chilli onto his noodles. Tanegashima wrinkles his nose in open distaste at what's happening before him, before sighing and uncrossing his legs. 

"There is one, but it's such a stupid reason," the boy grits out, like it physically pains him to say it out loud. 

"What could be stupider than you not eating eggs?" He points out and has to slam the table back down when the samurai boy screams and tries to tackle him down to the floor.

 _"Shigeru!"_ He thunders.

He yells back. _"Am I wrong though?"_

Tanegashima's mother, Tanegashima Hikaru, sidesteps them easily and doesn't even bother with acknowledging their existence.

"Keep it down, boys."

"Yes, ma'am!" He snaps up, and goes back down in a majestic tackle from Tanegashima. "Stop trying to murder me!"

Hauling him up by his collars, the Kyoto boy seethes down at him. "Listen carefully. I'm not repeating myself."

Shigeru finds himself patting the boy in the arm, condescendingly and probably asking to be punched across the face. 

"Yes, yes, Tanegashima-san, take your time."

"Shigeru," snaps the other boy. "There's a bow making carpentry family here, in Miyagi. That's why my family came down here."

Ah. That rumour. The Miyagi™ flavour of _kyudo._

Because all the volleyball concentrates either in Tokyo or Kyushu with Ushijima, the shining beacon of Volleyball Goodness in lowly Miyagi, they don't have much going on in terms of _kyudo._ However, the Yahaba clan settled here, their warrior princess ancestor thinking that this is a good plot of land to die upon and set up the foundations of a school to teach (terrorise) the noble arts of samurai-hood onto their unfortunate descendants, especially the noble art of horseback archery, something Shigeru barely got out of - the horseback, not the archery. Therefore, they're the only clan sustaining the art of _kyudo_ down this end of Japan, with no other competition. 

The Yahaba Clan is one thing, but not every archer in Japan is frothing at the mouth to flood their family _dojos._ The clan is renowned for being the personification of Spartan training so nobody outside of the clan would dare enter their _dojo_ grounds unless they want to be beaten out of sight.

People turn up at Miyagi, sporadically, because there is a rumoured family of bow makers. The finest bows somehow hold these signature wood from around the Miyagi region. So people are curious and then up in Miyagi because they want to know who is making these bows and can they make more bows? Unfortunately, the people who own the bows are tight-lipped about where and how they got those god-tier quality bows and there are no rules anywhere forbidding those bows into the realm of competitions. The moment national competitions start, people go on legitimate hunting sprees to locate these bow makers, to more failures than success, which he can't blame them, because the makers really take being elusive to be an extreme sport. Bows that are in possession of living _kyudo_ archers now are generational possessions - their grandfathers knew a guy who knew another guy who smuggled the bow through Dutch trading channels. As of this century, no new bow had been carved and the story of the legendary bow makers from Miyagi is largely an urban myth within the _kyudo_ community. 

"It's weird that you would turn up here to make tails and heads of an urban myth when you can talk to those bow makers in Nara," Shigeru points out, very reasonably. There is a prosperous business in Nara doing the exact same thing as the bow makers in Miyagi, but nobody is hunting them down for bows and instead approach them in a rational and respectful manner. It doesn't add up. Tanegashima, the Clan, does not just up and leave their ancestral home to chase a ludicrous legend in Miyagi where their oldest _kyudo_ practicing descendant is on stilted communication with Yahaba's first male successor in 4 generations knows that it's not real.

If the bow makers do exist, Shigeru would be using those bows instead of his trusted but rusty bow that grandmother had since she got awarded with the title of Deadliest Shot in the Guinness world record for archery in 600 BCE. He's a disappointment among the line-up of predecessors who have been wrecking records by the time they reached the tender age of 16 - his current age - but he does not find it in him to grudge his inability to kyudo. Everyone has different talents. If he can toss volleyballs and practice _kyudo_ to an amateur-ish level, then let that be it. 

"No, idiot," Tanegashima snaps at him. "Mother tracked down a descending family from those bow makers. They don't make bows anymore, but they're carpenters still. One of the kids goes to Aoba Johsai. That's why I'm here."

"What kid is that?" He asks, because for the general interest of Miyagi about to be overran by enthusiastic archers, he has to be ahead of the stampede. 

Tanegashima stabs his chopsticks into his bowl, seething at him.

"If I knew more than that, I wouldn't be having this talk with you, now would I?"

So that was the talk he had with his old rival now turned tentative acquaintance-almost-friend. The club is going good, he is practicing draws near the koi pond and hearing how much the fish judge him by his stance and his speed. Volleyball is still...going. The kids somehow deem him an authority figure to imprint on and swarm him to ask for tips and to stretch with. It is a weird popularity and a strange feeling, because he had always started off everything wrong, but now things are heading to the right path, which makes him suspicious.

What's going wrong?

The _tsuru_ snaps, flinging itself off his fingertips and slapping him in a single fierce line across the nose, the arrow ricocheting off weirdly, bending and curling like a snake slithering in swift air, imprinting itself onto the wall besides the target. As for Shigeru, he long since dropped the bow from his grip, clutching onto his face as the tip of his nose flares with a pain child him would be more intimately familiar with than teenage him, the rookie mistake burying him in layers of shame. That's odd. The bow was okay ten minutes before, though he noticed that strange vibrations. Why was it doing that then? Was the string not notched tightly enough?

"Correct," a voice speaks from the dark, startling Shigeru into a strangled yell. 

"Fuckin' _hell!"_ He shrieks, snapping into a defensive stance, a hand in his pouch in case he needs a distraction of _any_ sort and he can introduce the wonders of powder in their eyes and nose. These sting. He knows because his palms itch from where he's curling it into a fist, fingers trembling from the itch.

There is someone, in the row of _yumi._ There is someone who he had never met before and the person doesn't deem him fit enough to gaze upon their presence, still residing in the dark. Shigeru has weak eyes okay. He has weak eyes and he's mildly allergic to the powder and he knows he's a disappointment everyday to his clan. Yes, yes, move on.

"Your _yumi_ ," the boy clears his throat, voice gravelly like it hasn't been used for a while or at all. "It's going to snap, one of these days. Your draw is too wide for it."

He quickly snatches up the bow from the ground, whispering an apology and hefting it in his grip, feeling the brittleness of the wood. He's no bow maker, but he is an archer and an archer's essence is always linked to their bow. This _yumi_ had been past its prime for about ten years now, but he hasn't reached that state where he is allowed a brand new bow of his own since the whole amateur-ish shooting and lack of _heijoshin._ It's fine. But if he has no bow, he's going to be in a bit of a pickle with volleyball and that's inexcusable. He's barely been able to pick that up and have fun with it before he has to bounce back to _kyudo._ He needs to come to terms with both, make them harmonise with one another, and he can't if one is missing an entire component that makes it what it is.

"That's not good," he mutters, quietly panicking. "I'm going to get killed and then booted off the volleyball team."

"Volleyball team?" The voice asks, a note of incredulity in his voice given how Shigeru is handling a bow and commentating about his posture like a good, true, neurotic _kyudo_ archer would. 

He doesn't look one bit like a volleyball player and being a fringe member does not help things much. Nobody knows he's in the volleyball team, but _everybody_ knows he used to practice _kyudo._ Oh, the tragedies of life.

"I, uh, well I've got a jersey, but I'm not a starting member. I just… like the sport," he rambles, feeling like he has to explain his entire thought process to this sentient voice in the dark, not questioning why he has to justify himself to a stranger. Or worse, a figment of his imagination. Maybe he's too tired and need a rest. But that comes after explaining himself. 

A grunt, then something shifts in the dark. He can see eyes, sharp like a cat, staring at him. Ah. The person is listening. Shigeru feels relieved and intimidated at the same time. What should he say now? Should he say anything at all?

"Nothin' bad about liking something," grunts the voice. "It's brave, even, to try out something new and persisting with it even though you suck at first."

"Ah," he fumbles with his bow, face hot. "Thank you?"

"That a fact, archery boy, not a praise. Why are you here so late to shoot arrows?" The eyes narrow, green and gold and black all shifting in and out of each other, like a Ferris wheel on loop. "With a bad bow, no less?"

"It's, uh, my grandmother's," he stutters, feeling the urge to justify himself bubble up again. "I don't have a bow of my own."

A frown in the dark echoes loudly, even though he can't see it. "Why not? Aren't you an archer?"

"Not a good one," he laughs, self-conscious and self-deprecating. "We pass down bows from older generations in my family until the younger ones get good enough to get a bow of their own."

"You're nowhere bad enough to warrant a passed down bow still," frowns the voice in the dark still.

"Ah," he shrugs. "But I'm not good enough for a new bow. Thus there lies my dilemma."

The voice does not press him any further on his family drama and policies, but it does let out a resigned _'Fuckin' damn Yahabas',_ as his head snaps up.

"You know who I am," he says, voice an awed creature. 

"Ya kinda the local celebrity in _kyudo,"_ shrugs the disembodied voice. "Plus there's no mistakin' that hair anywhere."

"Are you an archer too?" He steps closer, and something like a grown emanates from the dark. "Ah, sorry, it's just that I only have the one guy from Kyoto who moved down here and we're not really good friends before, so I just want to make new friends."

"What are you, five?" Snorts the voice. "Friendships are for kids."

"I'm four and a half," he shoots back. "Are you an archer?"

The voice doesn't answer him for a while. "No, but I have an interest in _kyudo."_

It's still a lot more steps than what Shigeru expected. "That's fine too. Do you go to Aoba Johsai?" 

"No, I just snuck in the _dojo_ here late at night from my other school," snorts the voice, mocking him. "Of course I go here, dipshit."

"What club are you in?" He presses, not stepping any closer, though he's trying his best to restrain himself from doing the opposite. "What class? What year -"

There is a palm raised in the dark, and he is brought back to calmness. "Okay. Okay, shutting up now. It's just...nice. to have someone to talk to like this."

A terse silence, before a grunted 'yeah, same here' is emitted his way. "Don't use that bow any longer. Just steal one of the bows here. I'll even lend you my bow if you show me how well you shoot -"

Shigeru barks out - "So you _are_ an archer!"

"No I'm not," huffs the voice gruffly.

"What kinda idiot have bows in their home that isn't an archer?" He queries, because he wants to know too.

"Some moron in the volleyball club had a sword in his house without broaching sword fighting as a topic even once in his life. You'll be surprised at the dumbassery of people around here."

Grumbling, he squeezes the wood of the _yumi_ in his hand, hesitant to fire off another arrow if he's not quite sure how stable everything is. It could disintegrate in his hand and then his spine will disintegrate in grandmother's fist when she beat him to death for ruining a family artefact. 

Sensing his hesitation, the voice murmurs, a touch softer but still rough all around its edges. 

"Here."

A bow slides out from the dark, polished wood gleaming under the moonlight.

"You sure?" He asks, placing down his bow gingerly on the floor. That looks so new. Even Tanegashima's bow isn't that _shiny_ and that kid is _loaded._ It's a rite of passage for _kyudo_ kids. You shoot good, you get new bow. Otherwise use this old thing your dinosaur grandparent used in 87 BCE with the megalodon shark still roaming the ocean.

"Why would I give it to you if I wasn't sure?" Snorts the voice disbelievingly, like he is being difficult and stupid for the price of one. "Try it. It's an old bow, not used that often, so it should only be stiff."

Shigeru picks the _yumi_ up and scoffs inside. _Old bow? Old bow his ass!_

"Thanks," he says instead. "I appreciate this." There is a shuffle, and he can vaguely make out the hard planes of a face. "Just do your thing, archer boy."

Shigeru can't help himself. "It's Shigeru, actually. Written in the kanji for _cultivate."_

"Mn," the voice hums, like a cicada in the night. "Suits you."

"Not gonna tell me your name?" He teases, sweeping his sock on squeaky flooring.

There is no response except the usual one. "Prove yourself, then maybe I will."

He lines himself up, feet and shoulder facing the target, shoulders and arm stretched on a single line, finger lightly dancing on the _ya,_ the wood humming in his grip. Ah. How light. It's nice.

He breathes it, feels it in his core. Lets the breath go, and sees the _ya_ coils to the middle of the target, his glove the only thing that moved, everything else stationary. Still. Not a fleck of movement. 

_Atari._

"Holy shit," he breathes out, lowering the _yumi._ "That's the best shot I've ever done. That's the quickest shot I've ever - Hey, where did you get this bow -"

He turns around, but nobody was there. 

When Tanegashima hauls him by the back of his collar back home, he still has the bow wrapped in his grip, only shaking himself out of it enough to shove it at Heiji, telling the boy to keep it safe for him.

"That's not your normal bow," Tanegashima notes, inspecting the newly granted bow. "Where did you get this?"

Shigeru can hear Aunt Mahiro yelling now. "No time for that. See you on Thursday. I'll explain everything."

Tanegashima pulls at his wrist, face set in a scowl. "With ramen."

"With ramen!" He wheezes, before tearing into his home and bowing in apology, all the while dodging out of his aunt's rolled up newspaper smacking. 

He opens his palm in the dark, the hand holding the ridge of the _yumi_. His mole sits, dark and a smear of brown, on his heart line. The bend of the new bow felt warm against his palm, lighting something electrifying and still from his palm to the vein in his arm, underneath his chest. The bow feels _right_ and he does not have the word to explain how light and anchoring it felt to hold the bow in his grip. Stable, reassuring. Like a hand in his. Like a volleyball before a serve.

He needs to find that voice in the dark. Thank them. Then drag them to the light so see who they are so Shigeru can hang out with them in the light too. It is too little, for them to be interacting once in the dark like this. Not enough. They obviously clicked to a point beyond _kyudo,_ but words are not his strong suit so he cannot fashion their existence into something that can rescue his case.

In his dream, he sees great ancestor, Yahaba Shizuka, the silent death, slaughtering through the fields. She shoots a barrage of arrows from horseback, clutching her _yumi_ close to her side. There is an inscription, but he is too far to see it. A woman from the war campsite prays for Yahaba Shizuka's return, eyes sharp like a cat in the dark of a dojo ground. 

"Is she not magnificent?" She asks Shigeru. "Quiet and unwavering. I hope to be her strength."

Although he does not know this woman, he senses that they have met before, her smile familiar to him. It is a rugged and honest gesture and he responds, in his dreamscape -

"You already are."

"Do you have strength in yourself too, Shigeru, or do you need someone else to be that strength?" She asks, kind, not a touch of criticism in her tone.

"I think," he remembers the new bow. "I know how I can get there."

"What a good boy," she beams. "You must walk your own path. Do not let anybody else steer you from it. That is your strength."

He grapples in his dream, as the vision of the woman spirals out of sight for him. "How do I do that then? I can barely manage to do anything right!"

"Then let that be your strength instead of weakness, Shigeru!" She calls, gleeful. "Everything can be a strength for a Yahaba!"

He wakes, more confused than ever.

Tanegashima spends a long time staring at him over the bowl of ramen noodles, Oikawa and Matsukawa also mirroring the same expression. Shigeru too would pull that face on someone if he found out they just got given a new bow in the dark from someone whose face they couldn't even see.

"You can't," Benevolent Leader gestures airily, trying to keep things under control. "Put anything dangerous in uh, these bows, can you?"

Tanegashima and Shigeru look at one another. That's not a regular occurrence, because opponents are more likely to sabotage arrows than bows, because fouls are harder to detect in arrows than bows. Now that he is under the daylight, Shigeru is reevaluating everything he had said and done under the moonlight, which is about three light years the difference on how he would act right now and fights back a groan, barely salvaging the urge to slam his head onto the table and split it open right there right then.

"No," Tanegashima frowns. "Not to my knowledge."

Shigeru groans even louder. "You both don't sound very reassuring."

Matsukawa pats him once on the elbow, before he resumes his mobile game match. 

"I'm not even actively participating in _kyudo_ though," he frowns. "Like, why would I would be a target? Why won't they target _him?"_ He nods to Tanegashima. "He's just as famous in _kyudo_ too."

Tanegashima snorts. "I don't carry a sign that screams My name is Arrow and I'm known for hailing from the Archery Clan in the region."

Oikawa hacks out a laugh as Matsukawa twitches in his seat, quickly texting something out for someone and placing down his phone, placid expression sliding over his face as usual business. Shigeru wails even louder, begging for mercy.

"Why are you lot bullying Yahaba again?" Iwaizumi's voice rings out from the entrance, as he steps into their booth and elbows Oikawa further into Matsukawa in the corner. Watari chatters a greeting to everyone in the booth and slides a side hug for Shigeru slumped over the table, cheerfully taking Oikawa's milk bread.

"He accepted something from someone he didn't know," Tanegashima sums it all up.

Iwaizumi cuts him a look immediately, not even a second into processing the sentence, elbow rammed up in Oikawa's ribs. "You fucking idiot."

Shigeru gasps, too affronted to even be fake hurt about it.

_"Senpai!"_

"Free shit from people you don't know is just grade A dumbass behaviour," Iwaizumi snorts. "Even Shittykawa here knows not to do that most of the time."

Watari gasps and Matsukawa claps. 

Tanegashima whistles. "Damn, Oikawa-san, that's almost a compliment for you."

 _"Why are you guys so mean to me?!"_ Oikawa whines, flailing onto Matsukawa who braves it all with a suffering resting face. "I didn't take a free bow from a random stranger from the dark!" 

"Sounds like a drug deal," Watari notes. "Cut the bow open so we can see if there's drug inside." 

He frowns. "I don't take drugs though, so that point isn't valid."

Watari looks at him like he's being complicated on purpose. "You may not, but what if this guy is a smuggler and he's just shifted the blame on you? Now it's a _you_ problem."

Matsukawa looks up. "He's got a point."

Iwaizumi immediately scowls. "He watches too many crime shows so he's paranoid, that's what he has. We're not about to cut open a perfectly good bow if we're not even sure who gave Yahaba the bow. Did you bring it here today?"

He nods, shrugging the bag over his shoulder. "It's long, so I don't know if I want to open it on the table now. We can go somewhere else with a big table or something? This thing is long."

Oikawa giggles. "Makki just said - That's what he said."

There is a round of silence before Iwaizumi claps. "Tell him we already know."

"That he's gay?" Matsukawa raises an impressive eyebrow. "Yeah. Ages ago. He flirted with that guy from our training camp. Blonde. Got a tongue piercing."

Iwaizumi raises his eyebrow in tandem too. "Johzenji?"

Oikawa sigh, melodramatic. "He was kinda cute though. If I was into hot and wild."

Tanegashima sips his ramen broth, loudly and obnoxiously. "Iwaizumi-san can be wild."

Shigeru and Watari have to jump out in a team effort to stop Oikawa _and_ Iwaizumi from murdering the archer.

"That aside," Shigeru shouts, making more noises louder than the childhood friends so they can't start up a shouting match. "We are not cutting any bows open. That's disrespectful to the makers."

Oikawa makes an offended and rude noise. The _I deflate volleyballs purely on the strength of my monster serve alone_ noise and Iwaizumi agrees in tandem, his similar _I am the ace, I_ **_have_ ** _to break volleyballs, that's my constitutional right._

The _kyudo_ people present cannot understand nor will they relent to the request to cut open a bow to see if it carries some potential elicit drugs. Nobody would be stupid enough to put drugs in bows, they are too thin and also it is an insult for the bow makers and archers to find drugs in such a lame ass sport because it's not worth the trouble. Nobody is going to cut a bow open unless they are Oikawa and his volleyball team hell bent on proving their conspiracy theories in drug trafficking routes via _kyudo_ bows.

"So nice, Yahaba-chan," Oikawa waves aside, still eyeing his bow bag. "But we still have to have a good look at it. In case it starts growing needles in the middle of your nightly practice sessions or something equally nasty."

He frowns. "Why do you care so much, Oikawa-san? If I break my hand then I break my hand."

Matsukawa and Iwaizumi cut him twin disapproving looks, as Oikawa's face morphs into the terrifying I'm the Leader, I'm Right face.

"Yahaba. Shigeru," he singsongs, three notes away from landing Shigeru in metaphorical jail. "Are you implying that I, the respectable and loving captain, and more importantly, _your_ captain and senpai, doesn't care about the well-being of everyone on my team?"

Shigeru makes a sort of _yeah, that was my thought process all along_ sound and hopes it translates across well enough for him to be beaten down before Interhigh. 

"Bit insulting, Yahaba," Watari tells him. "You're very important to us."

Tanegashima, obviously sick of this devolving sentimental talk, snaps their attention back to the issue of The Bow. "Okay, okay, have the team pep talk later. What are we doing about the bow?"

Glad that he's out of shouting range at the present moment, he frowns at Tanegashima, curiosity pinching his brows. "You didn't inspect the _yumi?"_

"I had it for a night. And I'm not the type to go around looking at people's bows. I'm not an absolute asshole, asshole," Tanegashima snarls back, no heat behind his words.

Shigeru almost felt the love.

"Aww," Oikawa coos. "What a beautiful friendship."

"Besides, you don't matter that much for me to go unwrapping your shit in the sanctity of my home," Heiji adds and Shigeru nods.

Yep. There it is.

"Now that's true friendship," Iwaizumi points at him. 

Oikawa starts flailing. "Iwa-chan, you just agreed because any abusive relationship is an imperial truth in your book."

Iwaizumi doesn't even look up as he steals from the batch of milk bread on the table. "I'll give that a second thought when I start being wrong."

Tanegashima whistles. "He's got a point."

Oikawa pitches a chopstick at his head. "You don't get speaking rights unless it's about archery. Now bring forth the bow. I wanna see it. I want to see if it has marijuana powder or not."

Watari bustles away to clear off the bowl of ramen as the group of boys try to reposition the table to pull out a 2 metres long bow to examine it like a corpse on an autopsy table. The owner of the ramen stall does not even blink an eye at their shenanigans, possibly because 90% of her clientele are students who pull stupid stunts all the time so she's stopped caring about what they do as long as there is no window smashing. The _yumi_ is spread out in its full splendour and glory, _tsuru_ lightly stretched across the bend of the wood, everything clean and well-used.

"Wow," Matsukawa whistles first, definitely impressed by his interested eyes. "That's impressive."

"And shiny," Oikawa runs a hand across the bend of the wood. "So when can we take this apart?"

"We are not taking anything apart," Iwaizumi picks him apart from the table and keeps him behind his bulking form as the vice captain leans in closer to inspect the bow. "Play nice, Oikawa."

Shigeru didn't get to examine the bow in the dark and moonlit night and Tanegashima mostly threw the bow in storage, so they pored over the details, trying to see if anything is out of place. It could have a weird bend. The string could be made to look tightened but actually loose. The quality of wood might be brittle and about to break but you wouldn't know until you pick it up and rattle the _yumi_ about.

To everyone's joint disappointment, nothing is wrong with the bow.

"But why give it to me though," he stresses, with stress. "I don't think I'm worth anything to give such a new and nice bow to."

Watari immediately starts buzzing at him, like a bee. Shigeru rears back, staring at him like he just got served Oikawa's killer serve in the face and he's still trying to reconcile who he is and what he is meant to be doing. Iwaizumi nods in approval, nothing seemingly able to scare him anymore after a lifetime with Oikawa, Unpredictability Reincarnate. 

"What was that," he asks, afraid of the answer.

"I'm training you," Watari informs him. "You start having bad thoughts, I buzz. So when you hear a buzz anywhere, you stop having bad thoughts. Pavlov, bitch."

"Watari, I don't think that's how it wo-"

Matsukawa buzzes him, because he is an asshole and because he is pretty, he gets away with it.

Shigeru glares at them and pretends like they don't exist. He stares back down at the bow, running his hand through the bump at the outward curve.

Huh. He didn't realise something was written there before.

"Heiji," he nudges his fellow compatriot.

"What."

"Touch this part. Is that a name or something? Like a trademark left by the bow maker?"

They shove each other out of the way to try and have a read at what was inscribed onto the bend of the bow, trying to reconcile what was written to the fact that they can't read any _kanji,_ at all. 

"Tsukuru," somebody says, and Shigeru jumps apart from him huddling too close to Tanegashima who cringes bodily away.

"Am I even literate at this point in time anymore," he asks the thin air. "Why am I even in school."

Tanegashima is muttering under his breath, as Shigeru stares out into the Void. 

"The pains of illiteracy," sighs Oikawa, even though Iwaizumi read out the inscription. "How was _Tsukuru_ written though, Iwa-chan? That's a nice word to have on a bow. I would love that on my volleyball. Or on a banner."

"On your forehead," Iwaizumi tells him immediately. "Because you're an animal mascot and you need that shit tattooed on your forehead to make a point."

Oikawa's "Iwa-chan!" is cut short by Tanegashima's yell of _"Holy fuck, Shigeru!"_

"Here," he raises a palm, as Heiji almost body slam into him. "Calm down, Heiji. What's up?"

"Remember our little urban legend?" The boy seizes him by the shoulders, standing with one foot on the chair to meet his eyes.

"Yeah…?"

"No longer an urban legend," Tanegashima stares right at him. "We found the bow maker. This is the signature inscription that all the bows have. Nowhere else would we find something like this."

Shigeru spends about three days hyperventilating and then screaming into the koi pond. Coach forbids him from practice, sidelining him because of the nervous energy he let off. Like a steam engine powered by sheer nervousness alone, he is only a train wreck away from ploughing an entire innocent team of teenage volleyball players and two old hags over, therefore he had been placed on permanent timeout until he worked off that steam.

But no, he can't - He can't think properly. To think that he ran into the legendary bow maker who gave him a bow upon judging that his generational one was bending out of shape even though they vaguely only knew of each other and somehow spent enough time watching him enough to perfectly capture his _yazuka_. That's next level creepy. And weird. Mostly just creepy. Hi, his name is Yahaba Shigeru, he is sixteen years of miserably living on this earth and already he has a stalker. He wants answers. He needs answers. But he doesn't have much to go on, and there are too many people in this school to hunt down a single one who potentially may be a bow maker from the legendary family of _yumi_ makers. It's absurd. He'll die not knowing. 

"Yahaba-chan!" Oikawa summons him and he flips his bangs away, still aggressively gripping onto his volleyball like it owed him something. An answer to his current dilemma. Why he isn't progressing in both sports he is putting little effort in.

"Oikawa-san," he bites out and watches the smile gets tighter on Oikawa's face. 

"Come toss for the other team. Let it all out," the boy drags him, Kindaichi appearing at Shigeru's other side, holding onto an elbow.

"But I'll make mistakes," he whines, digging his heels onto the floor. Watari buzzes him twice, along with Matsukawa providing harmony to the one-tune buzz and he closes his mouth, shutting off his protests. Regardless, he refuses to join in, digging his heels further onto the floor and pretending he is a flagpole and not a teenage boy. 

Kindaichi begins to drag him in earnest, as Oikawa matches away.

"I don't care, Yahaba-kun! We're playing for fun now! Let's all just unwind and muck around!"

Hanamaki's voice rises above all the hubbub of people packing up. "I told you Yuji had a point!"

Iwaizumi yells at him, lobbing a volleyball. "Stop talking about your boyfriend, I don't care!"

Hanamaki yells back. "Gays can be friends too, Iwaizumi-kun, you're just a cynic!"

"See?" Oikawa turns back to him. "Just come join us."

"Relax a lil', _senpai,"_ Kunimi drawls. "Work it out by yelling at the third years. I'm sure it'll be very therapeutic." 

Shigeru considers it. He does need to yell. The third years are whaling at Kunimi like he had genuinely broken their hearts in a way that would matter. Seems fun. 

"Okay, I'm in."

  
  


The _dojo_ is quiet as he steps in, _hakama_ sweeping a quiet swish swosh rhythm as he shuffles back and forth, checking the targets and his _tsuru,_ plucking the unstrung string like a guitar string.

"Give you a new bow for a week and already you're trying to break it?" The voice of the legendary bow maker speaks again from the dark and Shigeru screams, clutching his glove and bow to his chest, wheezing heavily.

"Stop _doing_ that!" He hisses, pointing his bow in the dark. "You scared the shit out of me!"

He can't see the shrug, but he can well hear it. That shrug is present in the dark and he hates it for existing. 

"Your fault, not mine, creampuff," the voice drawls, familiar, like they are old friends, who have been doing this for a while, but not a second time occurrence. 

"I can't see you?" His voice rises shrilly. "Do I have eyes on the back of my head?"

Another unseen shrug. "Who knows. Archers have weird sixth senses."

"Not back eyes!" He insists, shrill. "Come out, let me see you!"

"No," says the voice mulishly, voice hoarse and unused. "What if you stab me?"

"How can I stab someone who gave me a nice bow?" He frowns. 

Another shrug. "I don't know. Because of how you want to know what I look like, because I'm the legendary bow maker in Miyagi?"

Shigeru points, shrill and triumphant. "That's all you. I didn't say anything. I just want to make eye contact and say hi. And thank you." 

"I don't trust you, creampuff," snorts the voice.

"I don't trust you either, but here we are, accepting bows and conversations like we are old friends," he shrugs. 

A stilted silence follows. He sighs, acquiescing to the silent request to not press the anonymity anymore. "Fine. Don't show me your face. But give me hand." 

The Stranger in the dark frowns. "Why." It didn't even sound like a question.

"So I can shake it, dipshit, why else," he grouches, picking up the bow with his gloved hand and offering his mole dotted hand, palm out, mole dark in the slanted moonlight. "Just so I can ascertain that you are human."

A gruff chuckle in the dark, an unfamiliar sound. Like the person doesn't know how to produce the sound. 

"So distrustful," the voice mocks, offering a palm, toughened by calluses. "Here. You happy?"

Shigeru is over the moon. He did not spend a whole two weeks shaking hands and memorising what certain people did to have certain calluses and hand shapes. He had rounded up all the people in the volleyball club to hold their hands, recognising common traits between all their hands despite the change in positions. He knows what calluses archers have. He shook hands with soccer players and rugby kids and swimmers and calligraphy people, to be able to ascertain what to know about these people and how to call out what someone does from a handshake. Like a spy would

Grasping the hand, he jolts in nostalgic recognition. It is not any club activity he knows, but an action he is aware of. Weaving. Basket weaving, with a dash of carpentry. Nails flaking at the tips, fingertips eaten away and chipping away from repetitive weaving motions - he knows what these are, because he had helped Aunt Anko weave a basket when he was younger, so that they could mend the bow she bent out of shape. Definitely a hand of a bow maker, no doubt about that. 

But...these calluses too...are similar...similar to Iwaizumi's hands. A spiker's hand. Somebody who spikes. A volleyball player.

Weird. Weird. Nobody has this voice in the club, at least not that he knows of. Maybe he's not even on the club. Maybe he did a Shigeru and quit playing volleyball in high school to swim, who knows. There are a million possibilities and he's not about to uncover all of them. 

That's okay. He's got a hand now. This hand is connected to a body. There is a human person here and he's real. Flesh and blood. Shigeru can count the giant pulse beating one one one two thrilling through the rough palm and he doesn't say anything about the bandaid across the ring finger. Bamboo strips are sharp. They cut indiscriminately. It happens. 

"You're real," he breathes, too relieved for something so trivial. "Sorry, ah, I'll let you go now. It's just...I thought you weren't real last time and it's...such a big relief that you are real. here."

The boy in the dark doesn't say anything, only takes back his hand, grazing Shigeru's own with his rough palm.

In the moonlight, he can see a twin mole on the retreating palm, heart line sitting staunchly behind the mole. He gasps, reeling back his hand to his chest. This can't be? That's the legend! The legend of the mole dotted lovers who transcended time and space to reunite once more by the matching marks of their moles on their palms. It's too much of a coincidence - two urban myths becoming true at once, so he brushes that second one aside, though he wants to know more about it.

"You're such a kid," the shadow tells him, fond and exasperated. "Show me your _budo_ _."_

He shakes his head, hair fluffing onto his forehead. "I don't know how to do everything properly. It's been nearly two years since I quit."

The shadow stares at him, cat eyes shifting colours in the dark. "I didn't ask to see someone else's version of the bow. I want to see _yours._ Do it comfortably."

He must have hesitated a lot, because the next words are a touch gentler - "Do it again and again, until you get it right. _Heijoshin_ will be yours, once you find your way of the bow."

"It doesn't matter," he breathes in. The dance must commence. He must complete _gyosha -_ it must be a perfected routine. He will get it right eventually, even if he has no predisposition towards any of the movements _._ Feet aligned, back straight, shoulders dropping, core relaxed. A dance, under the moonlight. A performance, reaching for the climax. The target is within his core. The _ya_ will find the target and strike _tekichu_ as soon as he knows what his style is.

What is his way?

His left hand brushes against the _kanji_ along the curve of the bow, like a reassurance. _Tsukuru._ Like _Shigeru._ Like his name had always been his purpose and the bow is reinforcing that.

Ah. Perseverance. Did Oikawa-san not say that once (all the times - he says this all the times)? _Talent is something you make bloom. Instinct is something you hone._

He sure doesn't have any talent in either volleyball or _kyudo,_ but his name sure can be testament of how outstanding he can become. Hard work will bloom into skill. Talent may not. He must aim forward, and release the tension.

The _tsuru_ makes the thwack! sound indicative of a good shot made, his arms and shoulder still held in the same pose, as _tsurune_ rings loudly in his ear. What a good game. He feels like he achieved something, miniscule, but _something_ regardless. 

"Ah," the voice murmurs, like it was next to his ear. "Knew you could do it. You're not what I expected after all, creampuff."

He asks the night sky, because flesh and blood may be true for one moment but they could be smoke the next. "And what did you expect of me?"

"Something else entirely."

"How's my _budo_ looking?"

"Like something a coach would be proud of. I know you think talent is everything, but really, that's only half the battle. Having the predisposition for a task is one thing - polishing your skills to be truly good at that task is another. And I know that your _shajutsu_ is strong, this head," a rough finger shoves his temple, not hard enough to hurt, but to make a point, "thinks too much, and that's why your skills are all jumbled up. Don't think. Stay calm. Your skills are all there, you made it by cultivating and building them. They can't ever be taken away from you."

Shigeru must be pissed terrified still, because the shadowy friend speaks once more, gentler, easy like the fickle clouds -

"Do not be afraid. This is the fate that you have crafted and built by your own hands. It is a gift, and it cannot be taken away from you."

He must be so out of it that he pushed away, mouth a jeering - "Don't quote Dante at me."

**Zaiteki**

Archery is put on hold when Interhigh looms about and he has to focus. Perfect his serves. Make them deadly. Communicate, mesh better with the team when Oikawa works himself too hard to the bones and starts to fall apart. It may be their last chance to play together, as _this_ team, on this court, at this time. Push harder. Push further. Rule the court.

Loss tastes bitter, like a shot of sake gone wrong. It's why he can't look Tanegashima and his senpais in the eyes for the following weeks, training camp becoming more of a chore than an anticipated trip to train body and mind.

"Can you just," Tanegashima points the butt of his pen to Shigeru's Internally Suffering Face. "Stop doing that in front of my college apps?"

He snaps out of it, just barely, to wonder about the college endeavours. "Where are you off to?"

"Osaka," the Kyoto native shrugs. "Home's just a train ride away. Good _kyudo_ program and I can study physics there. Good place to be at."

"Don't you like to stay Miyagi?" He frowns, but then he remembers. Right, this guy's from Kyoto.

"That's a you question and problem, not mine. Stay or go, it doesn't matter. I'll be seeing you around one way or another anyways," Heiji shrugs, before turning to Watari, draping himself across Shigeru's shoulder. "Can we help you."

"Yeah," he beams at him, all bald head and terrifying tiny libero tenacity. "I need to borrow this guy for a volleyball meeting. We won't be returning."

Tanegashima only turns an eye to them. "Leave then. Good riddance."

He only gets to huff out a _rude, Heiji-kun,_ before Watari tows him away like an illegally parked car on private property, whistling the Seijoh volleyball (war) chants. They can almost rival Datekou's, slightly on the fact that the senior on drum duty for years now broke her hand so they don't have the enthusiastic _taiko_ rounds anymore, but the general war-like vibes of it all will suffice. 

"Don't we get time to come to terms with our loss?" He moans, though he's glad the captain has Watari on back yelling duty because if it was left to him, he would have bailed indefinitely. 

"We lose to Shiratorizawa every year," Watari points out, reasonably. "It's kinda what's expected, really. So suck it up, princess, we're pulling through."

The team is all there, with Kunimi even directing the third years to set up the net, arms heavy with water bottles. The captain bounces towards him with the intent to hug him to death and he screams, running to the coach, who stands bodily between them to give a scathing speech about winning the Springs High, or _else._

"You sure it'll work?" Iwaizumi murmurs to Oikawa through their stretching. The Brilliant Captain doesn't reply, only winks at his best friend, first mate, trusted advisor and confidante and the muscle of this team, in the face and suffers a pinch to the elbow for it. Shigeru is mildly apprehensive at this.

What are they bringing in now…

The door swings open when they are all divided into teams for a mock game, a punk wearing the volleyball uniform marching in with fried chicken, looking like he just got off from indefinite detention to attend this practice match. Shigeru bemoans. Of fucking course they would pull in those slackers that never bothered to attend club practices. He's probably done enough for this club on the two years that he's on the bench than this punk had in the three days he showed up in first year.

He's heard enough about Kyoutani, yeah, definitely. The Number One Unreasonable Non-Team Player around in this part of Miyagi. Seeing him around reminds Shigeru that there really are some who give up halfway. Those who don't persevere until the very end. He hates people like that, more so because they crater upon their own path, regardless of what others say about their journey. He wishes that he could have a smidge of that Kyoutani brand of recklessness, of wildly leaving fields of torn up grass and destroyed earth. He hates that in Kyoutani, he sees what he couldn't achieve himself and it made him acutely aware that the bow may have been given to him, but he had not given himself over to the bow.

He grits his teeth, forces his arm down. Oikawa welcomes Kyoutani's sudden and much needed return to the club, arms spread wide. Good. That will become the Captain's problem, not the team's or most of all, _his_ problem. They won’t have to run into each other or interact - he’s a bench member and Kyoutani will most likely be on court and when the third years are gone and he would become the new third year, Kyoutani won’t return and they can let that jersey number go and order would prevail over the Aoba Johsai Volleyball Club. Like how it always had been. Nothing would have to change.

Kyoutani cuts a sharp look to Oikawa, no doubt irritated by his flamboyant manner, before meeting Shigeru’s eyes from all the way across the gym, a zing of irritation shooting across and at him.

What did he do? They’ve never even talked!

The nerve of this guy to pick a fight with an innocent bystander! He’s going to ignore him, for the good of the club. Kyoutani returning is a good thing....it’s a good thing.

The mantra better work, or else Shigeru is bringing his bow into practice to beat the living daylight out of those cat-like eyes, always on his back.

  
  


His mystery, maybe-volleyball-player shadowy friend still shows up now and then to keep him company, but his replies had been bitten off chunks of stilted anger, the force bending the _yumi_ very quickly out of shape. He breathes, all rattled and frazzled, strung as tightly as the bow he grips in his hand, vision tunnelling and spinning, breath a living shackle on the peace he fought so hard to attain, lost to the clouding night.

“You seem distressed,” his shadowy bow making friend notes. They must be friends. Who else meet up this often with no reservations about one another to speak their minds without labelling it as friendship. “Something happened?”

“Just,” he scrubs his palm onto the bone under his eye, feeling circles and kaleidoscopes burst under his closed lids. “Somethin’ at volleyball. I’m trying to work it out of my system. Nothin’ too serious. Have to get it together before training camp, or else Irihata will have my throat as his new violin string.”

A snort in the distant air. At least one of them is holding it together. “Didn’t think the rumours about body horror in the volleyball club were real.”

Shigeru looks up, cheek pulled into a pout. “Well, _you_ were a rumour a month ago, but look where we are. Real and getting along.”

A silence, but he had grown to appreciate these stretches of thinking time, where he is allowed to be sluggish with his thoughts and words. To not rush out the forefront of his thoughts in a conversation is a gift to be had, and he tries to use this silence wisely. 

“Indeed,” hums the shadow. “So, why you become the new reality for those who don’t fall in line at the volleyball club? We have to make tails and heads of these legends, Shigeru-kun.”

He pulls a face. “Don’t call me that with your voice. It’s disgusting. But uh, I think I’ll just run away from my problems and try to not shoot anyone in the leg when I sneak out after curfew to shoot. So that’s my plan.”

“Who’s giving you so much grief?”

He scrubs his eye again, breathing loudly, and misses the hitch in the night time. “Name’s Kyoutani. Our saving grace, but also pain in the ass. I’m going to be stuck with that so yeah, good luck to the both of us.”

There is a rustle, and the shadow is gone. He thinks he might have said something wrong.

  
  


At the training camp, Kyoutani looks at him...a whole lot. They don’t come into contact with each other. They don’t talk or engage in communication of any variety, but there sure is a lot of staring. He thinks of those as Kyoutani sizing him up, ready to knock him out into the next life with a spike to the head. He’s seen those vertical jumps. They’re taller than the volleyball poles and he does not want to be on the receiving end of the accompanying spikes. It’s a good thing Kyoutani is a protege of Iwaizumi and not Ushijima, because otherwise they would be having a lot of problems.

But back to the staring...it’s possibly because what...he’s the only second year that’s not on the court roster. The fact stands out like a sore sight because he’s here, at the training camp, like he deserves to be, when truly he does not deserve to intrude in this space. He knows - he knows too well of this fact, but Kyoutani doesn’t get scolding rights for somebody who couldn’t bother to turn up at all, so they’re pot and kettle in the same fucking shed. 

He only smiles at Kyoutani once, all saccharine sweet and menacing, as his feet sweep into the routine of _ashibumi._

“Apologies. Old habits,” he smiles, ~~fangs~~ teeth showing. 

Kyoutani frowns at him from the other side of the net, unblinking, before stalking away. 

“What was that?” Hanamaki drawls, before throwing him into a headlock. “And what’s with you, Yahaba? Picking fights with people already? Are you going through your rebellious stage? Do I need to beat it out of ya?”

He wails for mercy, but Matsukawa only cheers him on and Kunimi starts to record the beatdown session that he forgets entirely about Kyoutani, with eyes so similar to his shadowy friend.

  
  


He measures the length of the _ya_ by lining it up from shoulder to fingertips, stretching alongside the arrow like a splint. Yahaba, his name, the reason for his clan, the component of an arrow - he holds the _ya_ to the dim moonlight, brushing his fingertips across the width. The existence of an entire clan, contained in less than a span of a fingertip. So tiny, yet so lethal. _Yahaba._ It speaks for his family, but what of him? What of _Shigeru?_

The bow - _his_ yumi - stands resolute in his grip, kissing the mole on his heart line.

The _yumi_ is his, carved with an inscription by somebody who probably has to pick up the art of bow making from generations pausing on the art, digging up the old ways, whereas he detests the old ways, wishing it to stop. They are two forces colliding in the creation of this bow, and he thinks about how he must cultivate the strength to carry on and his bow maker friend must believe, trust in his ability to pick himself up and carry on with this bow, becoming his strength.

It’s odd. He feels like he’s had this conversation before, but with an actual other human and not by himself, within his head. 

There is a moment of absolute stillness, where he cannot hear anything - not even the drag of his socks or the swooshing of the arrow, zipping through the quiet air - nothing, only the calmness of his heart. He must carry on. It is his way to persevere - _tsukuru._ Shigeru.

In the dark, two cat-like eyes watch him stomp on the grass to retrieve his arrow.

  
  


The match is reaching a crucial point. Karasuno is gaining onto them - it’s been only a few months, but the monster crows have improved by leaps and bounds, and Seijoh cannot rule the court if they cannot crush this opponent to the ground. They’ve tried putting the Captain on light pressure - ramen threats - even put some mostly effective coercion in Kunimi to get him moving. Iwaizumi is the pillar, constantly checking up on all players and reminding them to connect, hydrate, stay calm. Shigeru is cheering on Watari and Matsukawa, whooping whenever Hanamaki scores a point and yelling when Kindaichi slams down a spike.

Off to the side, Kyoutani visibly vibrates with unchecked antsy nerves. Shigeru would care, but the potent energy in that would set the both of them on an atomic bomb mushroom cloud path, which they don’t need in Sendai, therefore he barely manages to tamp down the urge to start a fight with Kyoutani.

It’s not until that he starts fucking up so consistently that Shigeru really let himself go loose, let it all go free in a dam bursting motion of bottled feelings escaping from their restraints, no more barriers to hold back inhibitions. He slams into Kyoutani, shoves him into the side wall, peering into familiar yet not so much cat-like eyes, blown wide and peering into him.

 _"This is a very important moment for the senpais. If you dare to go out there and screw it up, I won't forgive you!"_ Is what he said. Then it follows up with -

 _Please,_ he begs, _be our strength. We need you now more than ever. I cannot play, I cannot be there for the team, but_ **_you_ ** _can, so take my strength and go out there with the team. Show them what we’re capable of._

“You’re more different than I thought,” Kyoutani remarks, visibly calmed down.

Shigeru would put his punk head through the wall if their every movements weren’t televised across Miyagi and if he isn’t wearing an identifiable jersey for Irihata to tear into him. He smiles back, saccharine sweet.

“No time. Just go go go!"

He barely hears the _you did good_ as he sends Kyoutani off on court.

The loss is...new.

They were arrogant. They thought that just because they had beaten the crows once, their spirits would be too low to start flying again, when they ought to have really ripped off those wings so that flying would be a distant memory for these birds of prey.

Benevolent Leader does indeed treat them all to ramen, all the while sobbing through his increasingly thinning wallet. Shigeru eats his way through his bowl, swallows down the twin lumps of resentment and regret sitting in his throat, and makes his way to the school’s _dojo_ ground, dragging his feet. He holds no regrets of playing volleyball. He simply regretted the fact that he could not lend his strength when the team needed strength - and for that fact, he resents himself and his inability to do anything when the time calls for it.

“Can’t win everything now, can you?” A familiar voice drawls, and he jumps, startled. It’s too bright for his shadowy friend to emerge from the dark, with an identifiable uniform no less. Could it be...pity for him, since the news of the volleyball team’s loss travelled no doubt like wildfire across the school’s network. He must accept this pity when it comes to him. This is who he can trust. This is who -

Looks suspiciously like Kyoutani, who scowls at him as a greeting as he gapes at the other boy.

“Kyoutani,” he says, then closes his mouth. “What -”

“Didn’t recognise my voice, didja?” The blonde raises a brow, considerably calmer the closer he approaches. The scowl is still there, a part of his face - but the voice is the same, the drawling tone coming at odds with the scowl on his face.

“No, I just…” didn’t expect this - “was surprised. You didn’t come to the ramen shop and bully Captain-san out of his money?”

“Didn’t do enough to warrant that privilege,” Kyoutani shrugs, hands buried deep in his pockets. “So? You gonna shoot today too or are we just gonna talk?”

Shigeru finds his heart in his throat and _heijoshin_ in his mind as he offers a palm out, mole facing upwards, as Kyoutani stares and slips his palm onto Shigeru’s, their moles overlapping. Same guy, with a face. Same mole, same hand, same voice. This is Shigeru's shadowy friend, slouching where he stands. 

“Think I’m just talkin’ today, Kyoutani-kun.”

(The talk is weird, but he gathers information that makes his head spin with something akin to a spike to the head. 

"Why'd you come back to the club?"

Kyoutani shrugs, like it was the easiest thing ever. "Oikawa told me you were feeling down. I only really give a fuck about you. So I came. Don't think I made a good impression though, so that's why I'm here. Now. To apologise."

He can't help but tease this boy who is the same boy who diligently crafted a bow for him by hand and let him hold his palm like a lovestruck idiot under the magical blessing of the moonlight. Really. If it wasn't obvious before it is obvious now. It's always been like this.

"There is no need, Kyoutani. You've done very well. I'm proud of you."

Kyoutani lifts big eyes to him as well, staring right into his heart. "You too. That was really needed...the whole wall slamming thing. I don't think you know how much importance you hold to the club but it's a fuck ton -"

"Stop swearing, gee -"

"And it's a fat load of tosh when I, slacker, tell you these things, but I really don't think all this berating is going to help anyone. Don't you know? The team with the stronger six players will win. You cannot carry the burden of the team on your own shoulders. You're too skinny."

"Fat load of bullshit for someone who was just beating himself up for fucking up critical points during the match -"

"Shigeru," Kyoutani stops him, same hand, same voice, same boy. "I think you've done very well. I'm proud of you."

Shigeru would have never expected these words to come forth from Kyoutani or this boy's mouth even if the world is ending, but it's nice, he guesses, to be proven wrong like this.

"You too," he bumps into that solid shoulder, no longer shrouded in darkness. "Ace."

Kyoutani's face breaks into a legitimate sweat, the blonde boy screeching at him and pulling his hair, as he cackles and sprints off, bow across his back.)

  
  


It becomes some sort of an urban legend in the _kyudo_ community - the Yahaba protege, you know, boy, kinda quiet, with a mop of pinkish brown hair, along with his perpetually scowling companion, the prestiged bow maker of Miyagi. They play volleyball together. Don't get along at all. All they do is yell at each other at any given point in time, yet they come everywhere as a set. Yahaba and Kyoutani. Inseparable. Nobody really knows how _that_ happened and what really went on, but a lot of people have seen the Legendary Bow with the kanji for _build -_ _tsukuru_ \- and they know that Yahaba is called Shigeru. They know a handcrafted, personally intended bow when they see one.

They make an odd pair, Kyoutani and Yahaba. The reluctant archer from a prominent _kyudo_ clan cratering down an unknown path of volleyball and chipping away his precious hands and the bow maker who before was an urban myth, weaving bows for little kids who couldn't afford to buy fancy synthetic bows for their classes, a formidable volleyball player. They make an odd pair, for they speak into one another's ears, shoulders and fingers entwined like bamboo strips surrounding hardwood in a bow. They make an odd sight, but it is a sight that is reminiscent of one centuries ago, a bow maker by an archer's side, lending strength and something much more inexplicable to the warrior princess' side

Yahaba Shigeru is no warrior princess, but he is still an archer, and he will lead Seijoh to Nationals first and return to _kyudo-jutsu_ later, in that order of priority. Even if people pick on the myriad of mistakes he makes during practice matches and during actual games, they don't get to continue when this buff blonde dude appears out of nowhere, glaring them down, eyes like an enraged big cat. People can't say smack about Yahaba Shigeru because there is an entire team hell bent on holding him up and making him stronger on his feet and he thinks that is his strength. 

It helps a little that there is a glowering Kyoutani by his shoulder too, standing a little on his toes to tower over Shigeru's shoulder. Kyoutani tells him he's a freak for growing too tall but he also force feeds him food and buys enough for himself and Shigeru, so really, he's truly the sucker in this situation here.

His bow is named _Tsukuru,_ after a generation of legendary bow makers from Miyagi who make indestructible bows. His name is Yahaba Shigeru, in tandem with his bow - to grow together and to build towards a strength, is his strength. His old captain used to say - Talent is something you make bloom, instinct is something you hone - and he had recently added the end bit to that adage - Skill is something you polish. While he doesn't have any talent in either _kyudo_ or volleyball, though his ex-rival turned childhood friend Tangeshima disagrees otherwise with the accumulating trophies in his college dorm room - he sure as heck can strive towards the _outstanding_ kanji in his name.

"What is it now?" Kyoutani - no, Kentarou - grouses at him, even as he stops in his imperial army march to turn back to look at Shigeru.

He thinks about it. "Nah. Nothing at all."

Kentarou raises a fist, threatening and he ducks away, cackling madly. Their hands are intertwined, moles overlapping on heart lines. 

He knows this is his path, because he had made it so. Therefore, walking on this path he set out for himself will be the only way forward.

Having Kentarou by his side does help a little too. He does look a pretty sight by Shigeru's arm. Even if he is punched over it. 

"Look alive, Ken."

"No."

"I can't believe the national champion is in my humble university and throwing a fit about the interior design, what a shame it would be if I call the paparazzi over here huh?"

Kentarou would tackle him ruthlessly and he would always evade, the two of them running around on Shigeru's campus like two children barely out of five years of age.

It's fine. He thinks he is going to persist with this.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually know like 4 things about kyudo so please do knock me out when you see obvious mistakes I deserve it. Also you can tell I just started giving up 5000 words in and the rest was just a loop of me screaming into the void so you're welcome for that mental image
> 
> also please tell me if there are any terms that are just in your face i love,,,kyudo so much will watch tsurune one day
> 
> find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/hozukitofu) and [cc](https://curiouscat.me/jenny_benny)! i have a writing [twitter](https://twitter.com/jayjem_jam) if anyone is interested in more bs or we can just vibe in the void together


End file.
